I miss
the person I am -you were
when I was with you.
I miss
the endless reveries
and winged words
we soared (and thrived) on.
I miss
watching the universes
spin by, as I twirled
on your fingertips.
I miss
the sound of the rain dripping
across three oceans
in tune with your guitar.
I miss
the post cards
from every city you’ve been
thinking about me-you.
I miss
being your heartache
which bloomed into
the last poem
you ever wrote…
